


Stolen Moments

by SOMNlARl



Series: Kinkmeme Prompts [4]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol, Angst, Boys Kissing, Community: dragonage_kink, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Fluff, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMNlARl/pseuds/SOMNlARl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a kink meme prompt; </p><p>  <b>Dorian and Cullen keep sneaking up on each other in private to steal kisses and its sort of competitive making out and learning what the other likes. Do people catch them ever? Do people notice that Cullen's hair was perfect five minutes ago, when did it get messy?</b></p><p>Tagged mature because I anticipate this spiraling out of control.  Right now teen is probably more appropriate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr [here](http://dragonagesinquisition.tumblr.com/). And give me all your prompts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _At the distant sound of footsteps Dorian pulled back with a smirk. "What's the matter, commander?" he purred. "Cat got your tongue?"_

The first time it happened was in the stairwell. Cullen was leaving the tower after a rather... contentious meeting with Leliana and Dorian was on his way up to his nook in the library, a stack of notes tucked under one arm. Taking the stairs two at a time Cullen ran right into the mage, knocking the papers out of his arms and onto the ground. 

He swore and dropped to his knees, gathering up the sheets and trying to put them back in some semblance of order. 

"Maker's Breath, Dorian! Please, forgive me. I... I wasn't watching where I was going! Did I hurt...?"

But he wouldn't finish the question because suddenly there was a hand on the back of his head and soft lips pressed against his. He was embarrassed to hear himself make a small squeak of surprise and pleasure and leaned further forward, into the kiss. He suddenly remembered that _yes, he did in fact have hands and presumably they still worked and yes, he was a grown man and not a stammering schoolboy even though he found himself breathless_ and he dropped the papers, reaching up with his right hand to softly caress Dorian's jaw and held on to his hip with the other. Dorian's hand snaked down the back of his neck and he felt the light scrape of fingernails on his skin, teasing out an appreciate shiver. 

Cullen pulled him closer and kissed him. Again and again he kissed him, tasting every inch of his mouth, all sweet, heady spices and the slightly metallic thrum of magic. He nipped lightly at Dorian's lower lip and kissed him again, just barely touching the man's tongue to his. 

At the distant sound of footsteps Dorian pulled back with a smirk. "What's the matter, commander?" he purred. "Cat got your tongue?" 

Cullen could only watch wide-eyed, speechless and utterly _destroyed_ as the mage continued up the stairs, the slightest hint of victory in his strut.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He obeyed and stayed still, collapsed against the wall. As commanded he thought to himself._
> 
> I like Flustered!Cullen as much as the next girl but sometimes a commander's got to be in charge.

Cullen found him in the herb garden. Dorian’s back was to him, the warm afternoon sun glinted across the silverite swirls of his armor. Cullen took a moment to stare, concentrating on memorizing every inch of his body. Every ripple of fine muscle that showed through the cutouts of his robes, the curve of his shoulderblade, the long neck tilted upwards and the soft, untidy curls that had escaped his ministrations, curling recklessly at the base of his skull. Cullen felt a swell of quick desire that pooled in the pit of his stomach, warming him from inside out, and felt his cheeks flush involuntarily. 

Dorian felt a supple leather-clad hand grasp his wrist, another on his arm and then he was swiftly and strongly guided sideways, then up the few steps to the corridor. He stumbled into a side room and heard the door click shut behind him, then there was nothing but his cheek on the cool stone wall and those hands, strong hands on his hips. The air was thick with leather and soap, woodsmoke and the faintest hint of something… sweet. Dawn lotus. _Cullen_. 

He struggled, tried to turn his head and felt the man’s grip tighten and the weight of his chest pressed into his back. “Keep still.” Cullen’s voice was a low, unrelenting growl, his breath hot against the nape of Dorian’s neck. He tried but could feel himself trembling , every joint weak. 

Then there were lips, slightly chapped and warm, on his skin. Then fingertips teased at his overgrown hair, coiled unruly strands between them and let them fall softly. Dorian felt a kiss on one shoulder, then the other and then brushed across the base of his neck. Cullen's touch was gentle but demanding, needy, desperate as he worked his way down Dorian’s back. A kiss here, a light grazing of teeth there and the mage felt his knees buckle slightly. He lowered a hand, reaching for anything to steady himself and laid it to rest on the man’s chest, he grabbed on to the leather strap of his armor only to feel his hand lightly swatted away. 

“Not yet.”

He obeyed and stayed still, collapsed against the wall. _As commanded_ he thought to himself. Now he understood how that ridiculous, awkward man had ever been chosen to lead armies. His breath came raggedly and he raised a hand to run it through his hair, pushing stray strands back and away from his face. 

Another kiss and the rumble of words against skin he couldn’t, in his fog, even begin to make out. They pulsed through him like a storm and he heard a soft laugh and felt those same hands. Those same hands, softer now, turned him and held him upright. Dorian opened his eyes and found himself looking into those wonderfully warm, honey-amber eyes. 

He moaned softly, feeling the brush of Cullen’s lips against his collarbone and then the man’s mouth on his. Everything seemed to grow dark as he darted his tongue into the commander’s mouth, slowly exploring every small crevice. 

And then, nothing. Cullen pulled away, taking a moment to trace the sharp lines of the mage’s jaw, those high chiseled cheekbones. Dorian reached out for him and he stepped back swiftly, leaving him to just barely manage a quick touch, his fingertips brushed lightly over the scar above the man's lip. 

Cullen smirked and opened the door, letting the sun stream in. Dorian blinked rapidly, acclimating to the sudden light and took a deep, shuddering breath. Then he heard Cullen’s voice, hushed but strong and the door clicked shut. 

“As you were.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Cullen found himself chuckling despite himself. “No plans to set her on fire? That’s remarkably charitable of you.”_

Cullen was unsure when their standing chess matches turned into… this. Not that he was entirely clear on what _this_ was either. Not exactly. Or what he wanted it to be. He’d had too much time to think - Dorian had been gone, on a mission to the Storm Coast, a place Cullen knew he despised. He’d missed the mage, Cullen realized suddenly - when did that become possible? 

He drank deeply, draining his ale and leaned back until his chair touched the wall, his boots propped up on the table. He’d sat in the corner, wanting to attract as little attention as possible as he thought. And drank. Too many of his men whiled away their nights here and he’d never been the sort to fraternize with the ranks. This was not quite how the troops should see their commander, lost between a question he couldn’t quite put to words and an answer that he wasn’t sure he wanted. He raised a hand, gesturing to the barmaid for a third and when it came he held the mug between both hands, looking over the crowd that had gathered. 

The noise of the tavern swirled around him. The bartender, Cabot he thought the man’s name was, yelling out orders. The roar of Bull’s Chargers as they toasted and slammed tankards back on the table, singing between rounds. Varric and Lavellan were deep in a game of wicked grace with Sera watching, perched on top of the table and shrieking with laughter. _Worry, cold and dark but also, a light inside. Him. Wondering. Watching. Who does he think of when he’s alone?_ “That’s enough, Cole” Cullen muttered. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking another long drink. He never could quite remember exactly what the boy looked like but as he examined the faces before him he was certain that Cole was not there amongst the crowd. 

Then he heard him, even through the fuzziness of drink. Even through the ruckus it was there - the soft clicking of elegant boots on the floor boards, the swelling rustle of silk robes and then there was the scent of incense burnt low, amber and clove. “Commander!” Dorian’s voice rose above the crowd, a goblet clutched in his raised hand, a tankard in the other. _Well, so much for subtlety_ Cullen thought. 

“If that bard… Maryanne? Maryden? I suppose it hardly matters. If she doesn’t stop singing that horrid song about Sera she might just find herself with her lips curiously frozen shut.” Dorian collapsed into a waiting chair, both awkwardly and elegantly if that was possible. He pushed the tankard across the table towards Cullen. "Here, drink!"

Cullen found himself chuckling despite himself. “No plans to set her on fire? That’s remarkably charitable of you.”

“Ah. Yes. Burning her face off may still be on the agenda. The night is young, after all.” Dorian’s mustache twitched as he stifled a laugh. 

They must have sat in silence for more than a few moments because the next thing Cullen knew was the press of a kiss against the side of his jaw. He started, had he not been sitting down he would have jumped half a foot in the air. “What’s this?” Dorian whispered silkily, hungrily. “A templar caught unaware?”

Cullen looked around quickly, blessedly no one in the tavern seemed the least bit aware of them. He stood, brushed at the wrinkles of his breeches and walked over to the stairs, taking them as casually as possible up one flight and then the next. He leaned on the railing, watching as the mage drained his wine and came up the stairs behind him. 

Dorian stood next to him. “Well, here we are then.”

“Yes” he agreed. The floor felt like waves on the coast, slowly rising and crashing again, tilting beneath him. 

“May I?” he heard, muffled, like it came from a great distance. He looked up to see Dorian staring at him, eyes full of a dark desire. His eyes lit on the man’s lips, oddly veined with crystal blue - like lyrium - no - like ice on the river in early winter, he thought. Frost. 

He nodded, dumbly. He gasped softly as Dorian’s lips touched his own, the unexpected cold made him quiver with pleasure. His head suddenly clear Cullen parted his lips and kissed him, drinking him in. He kissed him unrelentingly as though if he loosened his grip on the man he might drown. Then - a hand running through his hair, pulling him back. “Please…” he said, a plaintive note in his voice that might have been shameful at any other moment. Another kiss - _the storm came_ \- tingling softly, the current echoing through his body like a song. It might have been centuries - the candles sputtered out their last hints of light. 

_The waves are quiet now, lapping at the edge of the shore. He sailed for any port in a storm but instead found safe harbor._

Dorian pulled away suddenly, looking for the source of words. “Did you.. hear that?” But instead of answering Cullen cupped the side of his face in his hand and pulled him closer, silencing him with a kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Pardon me, Commander, it’s just that you look less than, how do I put this? If I didn’t know better I would say you looked like you had been ravaged. In a barn.”_

He was shelving books when Josephine burst into his office, relishing a rare moment of quiet. It was so seldom these last few months that he’d had a moment to himself just to breathe and calm his thoughts. There was always something; an archdemon one day, an actual demon, well… spirit… wandering Skyhold the next. Sunrise, sunset. Still, Cullen craved these moments between one storm and the next where he could _just be_ for a short while, these moments between the frenetic energy of tactics and battle and the slow, suffocating morass of withdrawal. 

“Commander!” The ambassador’s voice sounded harassed, bordering on shrill. Quite unlike her, he thought, she was usually eminently unflappable. 

He sighed deeply and placed the book in his hands horizontally on the shelf. He would get back to it later, this would have to do for now. 

“Ambassador,” he said coolly, smoothing over the hint of annoyance that threatened to emerge, “what can I assist you with?” He did like the Antivan, truly. He enjoyed working with her. But how she could remain endlessly fascinated with the comings and goings of nobles, the shrouded barbs that hid beneath pleasant words was beyond him. She was speaking quickly now, her hands clasped before her and he blinked slowly, trying to catch the thread of her words. 

She stopped, staring at him, clearly waiting for an answer. He blinked again, “I apologize, Lady Montilyet, my mind must have wandered. What did you need?” He tried his most conciliatory tone. 

“Lord Michel and Lady Elodie are just about to arrive. Is the guard prepared? We will all need to be ready to greet them in less than an hour. You… your hair, it’s dreadful.” she said, then paused suddenly, fixing Cullen with an uncomfortably searching gaze. 

“I'm sorry?” he raised an eyebrow at Josephine whose dark eyes narrowed as they studied him. 

“Pardon me, Commander, it’s just that you look less than, how do I put this? If I didn’t know better I would say you looked like you had been ravaged. In a barn.”

He choked then murmured “A barn? Perish the thought.” He raised his hands to his head and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing back unruly curls into some semblance of order as best he could. “I will, ah, endeavor to ensure that I am presentable when our guests arrive. If you will excuse me?” With a rustle of skirts that managed to sound exasperated the ambassador was gone, as quickly as she had appeared. 

_Not in a barn, no._

A voice drifted lazily from the loft, thick with amusement. “Really, I must have a talk with Josephine about her choice in reading material. She’s clearly stolen Cassandra’s copies of _Swords & Shields_. A barn? Ridiculous! I suppose it is a blessing that she went for the cliche first; had she said ravaged in a wine cellar you would have given the game away immediately the way you blush.”

“It’s your fault, Dorian! If you hadn’t left me looking like… I suppose I don’t really know what I look like nor, I suspect, do I want to, she would have been none the wiser.” Cullen tried to sound stern. He failed. “Besides, considering that my current state is entirely your fault I think it should be up to you to fix it.” He was up the ladder and on the floor next to the mage before he knew it. Cullen leaned towards him, pulling Dorian in for a kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okayyyyyy this got more than a little bit silly. Cass/Varric make an appearance.

Dorian had been especially pleased with himself, even more so than usual, when he found the Inquisitor’s special wine cellar. Not that he wanted to drink anything in there, of course. Dusty old bottles of Ritewine and Conscription Ale, lying out in the elements for Maker knows how long? He would stick with his own private stock that Josephine organized for him, thank you very much. Thank goodness the woman recognized a man with both needs and exquisite taste when she saw one. 

No, he was pleased with his find for its utility. Somewhat secluded, dark and very lightly trafficked, the perfect location for a secret tryst with his dear commander. _His commander_ , he liked the way that sounded. No messengers, no birds, no prying companions. Not that he was ashamed of this, he thought to himself, nipping lightly at Cullen’s earlobe. Old habits, however, did die hard and he was still not quite sure he believed that attitudes in the south were that much more liberal than back home. Besides, he knew that the man was not exactly fond of being the center of attention or the subject of gossip. He gasped as a hand cupped his ass, squeezing not entirely gently and dug his fingernails into the back of the man’s neck. He turned to meet Cullen’s eyes, savoring the smirk he’d known the man would be wearing and pressed his lips to his. Softly first, teasing, he brushed his lips gently across Cullen’s and pulled back slightly, wanting to drink in the desire he knew would be written across his face. The commander did not disappoint. Closer now, he parted the man’s lips softly with his tongue, slowly probing, claiming his prize.

The door burst open and two figures staggered into the room. The first and shorter of the two tripped over Cullen’s coat which was strewn haphazardly across the threshold, catching the edge of Dorian’s robes on the way down to the floor, dragging both the mage and the commander with him to the ground with a strangled yelp that Dorian would deny making to his dying day. Cullen hit the floor with a crash of limbs and armor, the breath knocked out of his lungs. The second figure, standing against the door, swore vigorously, the voice all too familiar though he couldn’t immediately place it. 

Cullen groaned, rubbing at the back of his head where he’d knocked it against the stone floor. Thankfully Dorian had broken most of his fall which, now that he thought about it, was more than a bit worrisome. He probably should make sure the mage was unhurt. 

“Vishante kaffas! Get off, both of you!” Dorian hissed. A quick stream of infuriated Tevene flowed out of him and he fought to get out from under the weight that was threatening to crush him. When he was finally free he raised his hands and conjured a quick ball of light only to see… 

“Seeker Pentaghast?” Cullen choked out the words. He sounded confused. Surely I don’t have to explain this to him, Dorian thought to himself. 

Cassandra’s face was dark, with just a hint of murder. 

“And Varric Tethras,” Dorian lilted. “Surprise, surprise. It appears that two people who dislike each other are always about to kiss. Tsk, tsk. You really shouldn’t write so much of yourself into your books. Or are you two playing a game of ‘Interrogate the Prisoner’? I do so love games.”

He stole a quick glance over at Cullen who somehow managed to look amused despite also appearing to be searching for a way to melt into the floor. Varric, completely nonplussed, just grinned. 

“You know Curly, I have always said that you needed a hobby more than any man but this… is not exactly what I was expecting.” The commander groaned again, more out of habit than anything else, and ran a hand through his hair. His voice when he spoke was without malice.

“Not another word, dwarf.”

The Seeker’s voice was low, full of danger and a promise of future violence. “We will never speak of this again.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't supposed to be long OR angsty when I started out. Fail on both counts. Apparently I can't be fluffy for too long before the blackness just takes over.

It had been a very bad day. Odd really, he thought. The last few weeks had been almost without symptoms entirely, Cullen dared to think they had been normal - assuming he could remember what normal was after all these long months. Of course that couldn’t last. He should have known better than to hope.

Cullen had awoken from a sleep filled with nightmares and abominations, the details just too far away to put into words but too close to dismiss, with a horrible headache that reached from deep behind his eyes down through his neck. He’d chosen his oldest shirt, one he didn’t mind sweating through because no matter what he did the fever wouldn’t loosen its hold on him. He hadn't eaten, the smell of food at breakfast threatened to choke him even as he'd done nothing but walked into the hall. Not caring who saw he'd left quickly, almost running through the halls to the War Room, where he might find some peace until Leliana and Josephine arrived. He'd kept mostly quiet during the day, speaking only when absolutely necessary, ignoring the furtive looks he received from the other advisors. He had avoided meeting their eyes, not wanting to see if their gazes were of condemnation or of pity - he couldn't decide which would be worse. And he’d taken the most heavily trafficked route through Skyhold specifically so that Dorian couldn’t catch him unawares and pull him into an alcove. Or a corner behind a market stall. Or off to the side of the barn. Or into a store room by the kitchens. He didn’t want to be seen by anyone right now, especially not the mage. 

“Tell Leliana that a patrol will be dispatched to clear out the varghests in the Western Approach first thing tomorrow morning” he said to a waiting runner. As the man ran off he raised his hands to his head and rubbed deeply at his temples, willing the stabbing ache and nausea to leave him while he made his way back to his quarters. He placed one hand against the ramparts to steady himself and closed his eyes, the bright winter sunlight only seemed to exacerbate the pain. 

Cullen stood still, leaning up against the reliable weight of the stone. He kept his face forward, if his recruits looked up from their training exercises they might see only their commander critiquing their progress, not the man he felt, fallible and terribly flawed. 

It might have been hours or perhaps just minutes that he stood, taking slow, deep breaths until his stomach stopped doing a distressingly accurate impression of the Waking Sea when he felt an arm wrap around his waist and stubble press against the back of his neck. 

“Not now…” he hissed, under his breath. Knowing this place there were still ears everywhere. 

“Oh, yes. Now. _Commander_.” The mage’s voice was barely audible but still managed to sound dangerous over the wind screaming across the battlements. “I can hardly think of a better time than right this very moment.”

“You’ve been avoiding me all day.” It wasn’t a question but still, Dorian’s words demanded an answer. 

Well, here goes nothing he thought. He gave a small nod in response. “I’m assuming you’ve seen me? I’m amazed you would want anything to do with me. This is hardly something anyone of your highly esteemed breeding would care to see.” He knew the words would hurt as they crossed his lips, could feel the pain turning him angry and mean and he couldn't quite bring himself to care. 

Dorian’s only answer was a hand tightly grasping onto his hip and a kiss, slow and deep, until Cullen thought he might never breathe again and wouldn’t mind that one bit now that he thought about it. He leaned into Dorian, grasping at his robes, not caring who might see. Under the mage's hands he was able to relax, he felt the release of each muscle and the slowing of his frantic thoughts. Dorian's touch was too sweet a balm and he returned the kiss with a ferocity he hadn't known was within him. Biting then pulling away, teasing, parting the mage's lips and exploring the depths of his mouth with his tongue until he felt Dorian pull back and found his eyes tender but full of worry and anger as well. 

“You think you’re the only one that hurts? That suffering is the providence of you and you alone?” Dorian’s lips moved from his lips to his jawline, then slowly but surely down his neck. Cullen whimpered, partly out of pain but mostly from pleasure, his hands reaching to grasp at the mage’s back, the strands of his hair, anything to remind himself that this _was_ real. 

“It’s not that easy, Cullen. Getting rid of me, I mean. I would have thought you knew that by now.” The mage kissed him with a tenderness at odds with the subtle venom behind his words. 

"Dorian, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” 

"You mean, you didn’t think,” Dorian snapped, pulling away from Cullen’s embrace, his lips thin and tightly pursed across his face. He turned away, looking stone-faced across the courtyard, long, nimble fingers drumming against the ramparts. 

Then they began to walk, in tandem somehow despite their distance, across the battlements towards his office. Cullen pulled the door open and when they were both through Dorian locked it behind them, crossing the room to do the same to the next door and then the next. Cullen collapsed in his armchair, fiddling with the buckles of his armor, his hands shaking too much to unfasten them. The mage’s footsteps drew closer and closer, the touch of his heels on the wood louder until the sound was painful, then Cullen felt his weight on his knees. Dorian’s fingers impatiently brushed his aside and unfastened one buckle and then the next. He felt the intolerable weight of his breastplate lifted off of him and he sighed, leaning forward and resting his head against the mage’s chest. 

"I’m sorry. Please, forgive me,” he whispered, brushing his lips against the base of the Dorian’s neck, circled his earlobe lightly with his fingers in a way that he knew would make the man's anger melt away. He heard an appreciative huff, looked up and grinned. 

You can’t.. hide from me, Cullen. Not if this is going to work.” Dorian pulled back, the fingers of one hand curled around Cullen’s jaw and the others lightly brushing against his brow. He searched his eyes, looking for any hint of a lie within them. “You can tell me to go. It will hurt but I will respect that. But you can’t just disappear, I can’t bear it. You must promise me.” 

“I promise," he whispered, leaning forward to place a soft kiss across Dorian's lips. "I swear, I promise." 


End file.
